By Moonlight
by dust on the wind
Summary: Carter knows that acts of sabotage have consequences, but he prefers not to think about it, until a chance encounter brings him face to face with an unexpected situation.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_Cover image: J A Grimshaw (1836-1893), **Moonlight after rain **(detail)_

* * *

It might as well have been the middle of the day. The Hammelburg road was brightly illuminated by the light of the full moon. It was neither a good time nor a good place for a secret rendezvous.

In answer to LeBeau's pre-mission expostulations, which had been both vociferous and wide-ranging, Colonel Hogan had pointed out that their contacts had been very specific about the time and place. Then he asked if LeBeau wanted to back out. "Because I can take Newkirk along instead," he said.

LeBeau, of course, never backed out of anything. "Newkirk has a cold," he pointed out. "Do you want him to have pleurisy? Because if he does, I'm not nursing him. He's unbearable when he's sick."

Most of Hogan's men hated being out on moonlit nights. Too much risk of being seen; too much risk of being caught in an Allied bombing raid. Having to wait so close to the road was just the icing on the cake.

The exception was Carter, third man on the team for tonight. He rather liked the moonlight. It let him see the rock before he tripped over it, or the tree branch before he ran into it, or the pond before he got soaked to the skin. Of course, he understood the other dangers that came into play, but being the clumsy one meant that he had different priorities to the other guys.

Because the chances of being seen were higher, Hogan had ordered civilian clothes. If they should be noticed, they wanted to look as normal as possible. That was another problem, as far as LeBeau was concerned. "The jacket doesn't fit properly," he complained.

Newkirk was moved to defend his work. "Well, if you were a bit more careful, you wouldn't have ripped the arms out of your other one, and I wouldn't have had alter that one," he said. "I worked hard on that. There's no pleasing some people."

"Why's he so grumpy?" Carter whispered.

"It's his natural state," replied LeBeau scornfully. "He's just worse than usual because he has the sniffles."

So there they were, waiting among the trees beside the road, three miles from Hammelburg. Colonel Hogan was tense; not exactly anxious, just a little edgy. He objected to missions that contained extra elements of avoidable risk. LeBeau, uncomfortable in a jacket that was still just slightly too big, was cross, and inclined to snap. Carter just stayed quiet, and tried not to fall over anything.

"Five minutes," said Hogan, checking his watch. "Keep your eyes open."

"I see someone, _mon Colonel_," whispered LeBeau, who was watching the road.

"Is that who we're supposed to be meeting?" asked Carter.

Hogan was looking grim. "Not unless the British Army has seriously relaxed the entry requirements for the commandos."

"If they have, tell me where to sign up," said LeBeau.

"It's almost two in the morning," Hogan murmured. "What's a girl doing out here on her own?"

"Could she be from the Underground?"

"Maybe." Hogan frowned, considering the possibility. "But she's not someone we know."

"Shall I go and check her out?" LeBeau suggested. "I would be happy to take the risk, Colonel."

Hogan looked down at him. "In that jacket, LeBeau? She'd run a mile. Carter, you go and talk to her. See if you can move her on. But be careful," he added as Carter started moving. "For all we know she could be Gestapo."

Carter nodded, and slipped from the cover of the trees to the edge of the road. As the girl approached, he went forward to meet her. "_Guten Abend_," he said politely.

It appeared that she hadn't noticed him till he spoke; she gave a start, and stared at him with trepidation. She looked very young, perhaps nineteen or twenty; quite a pretty girl, if anyone took the time to notice, and dressed with sober respectability. She certainly didn't seem the type who would be out of doors this late, even if there were no air raids to worry about.

After a moment, she murmured an almost inaudible reply, and turned her face away, looking a little self-conscious. Something on her cheek glistened in the moonlight; it caught Carter's eye, but for a second he didn't know what it was.

_She's been crying_, he thought suddenly.

"Can I help you, _Fräulein_?" he asked.

She gave a nervous little shake of the head. "No. Thank you," she whispered, and kept walking.

"You shouldn't be out on the road this late," he called after her. "Better get home as quick as you can."

The girl nodded, but didn't stop. Carter was just about to return to the others, when the sound of a soft, half-stifled sob reached him. All thought of the rendezvous, of Hogan and LeBeau still waiting by the roadside, and of any caution whatsoever, vanished. He hurried after her, and quickly caught up. "Is something wrong?" he said.

She put her hand over her face, struggling to suppress an outbreak of weeping. "I'm frightened."

"Well, you should be," said Carter. "What's a girl like you doing out on the road at this time of night? Don't you know it's not safe?"

"I was...visiting a friend," she said, with a slight hesitation, "and I was late getting away."

"And they just let you walk home, on your own? Some friend," said Carter, a little indignantly. "If they couldn't see you home, they should have let you stay for the night."

"I didn't want to," she replied quickly. "I..." She hesitated again, then went on. "My mother will be expecting me."

"Your mother will be having fits, if she's anything like mine. Do you live in Hammelburg? You know how far it is?"

She started crying properly, and he immediately felt guilty for scolding her. "Oh, don't do that," he stammered, pulling out his handkerchief and offering it to her. "Look, you probably don't need to be so scared. It's not that far to Hammelburg. And I bet there won't be any air raids tonight."

"I'm not afraid of air raids," she replied, as she took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. She didn't offer any other explanation, but glanced back down the road, in the direction from which she had come.

Carter looked, as well. There was nothing to be seen, only the road shining white in the moonlight. But something, somewhere along that road, had really upset this girl. He came to a decision.

"It's not right for you to be out on your own," he said. "I'll walk you home."

He thought he saw a flash of relief in her face as she looked up at him; but it was quickly replaced by doubt. "It's out of your way," she faltered.

"No, not at all. Well, maybe a little," he admitted. "I don't mind, honest." Belatedly, he remembered the mission. Colonel Hogan would probably tear him to shreds when he got back to Stalag 13. Oh, well, too late now. He'd made the offer; he had to stick to it.

The girl appeared torn between discomfiture and nervous agitation. But she gave a tiny nod of acquiescence, and whispered, "Thank you." Carter, with an apologetic glance towards where Hogan and LeBeau were still lurking, fell into step beside her as she set off again.

They walked in silence for the first half-mile. Occasionally, Carter stole a sideways look at her, and was relieved to see that she seemed calmer. He was aware that she was glancing timidly at him every so often. Eventually, of course, they caught each other at it, and both looked away with embarrassment.

Finally, she spoke. "My name is Sabine," she said.

She met his eyes with a shy smile, which he returned with equal diffidence. "I'm Andrew - Andreas." He corrected himself quickly. "I'm Andreas."

Another silent half-mile.

"You're not in the military?" she asked.

"Well...no. Not really," Carter replied. "Reserved occupation. Can't talk about it. It's a bit secret."

"War work?"

"Sort of." Well, it was war work. Sort of.

Sabine sighed. "My father was in a reserved occupation, until recently. He was working at the hydro-electric plant, as a shift foreman. But it was destroyed by enemy agents two months ago."

"That's a shame," said Carter. "I'm really sorry." That was also true. He knew all about the hydro-electric plant; he'd played a major part in its destruction. He felt a pang of guilt. "Is he okay?"

"He wasn't on shift when it happened. But now he's out of work. And he's not forty-five yet, so..." She didn't finish the thought, but the implication was clear; a man of that age, in good health and not otherwise contributing to the war effort, was at risk of being called up for military service.

"Can't he find work somewhere else?" Carter asked.

"Maybe. If he was given the chance. But..." She flushed, and looked at the ground. Carter felt even worse about what he'd done. He had accepted long ago that there were consequences to the acts of sabotage which were the chief purpose of his life, but he preferred not to think about it. Now he was face to face with it.

"Anyway," he said hurriedly, "they're not drafting men in that age group just now, are they?"

"Not generally. But there are circumstances..." She trailed off again.

Carter wasn't the brightest of Hogan's men, but he was smarter than he let people think. It was obvious there was more to this than the girl was letting on. He wondered if he should pursue the question, but they'd only just met, and she was clearly reluctant to talk about it. Once again, Carter felt awkward.

"I suppose he doesn't want to go into the army," he murmured. "I mean, who would?"

"He may not have a choice. But he doesn't want to fight. He doesn't believe in...I mean, he thinks there are other ways a man can serve his country." She sounded uncomfortable, as if she'd said more than she should.

The low drone of an aircraft motor had become audible. Sabine looked up, glad of an excuse to change the subject. "Where is it?" she asked. "Is it one of ours?"

Carter listened. "Oh, yes. Supply plane - Junkers. JU52, I think." It was actually an Allied reconnaissance flight.

"I can never tell the difference," said Sabine. "It's flying very low, isn't it?"

"They do that now," Carter fibbed. "To avoid running into any American bombers."

The plane passed over to the left of the road, and continued on its way, the noise dying off in the distance.

"Have you ever flown?" Sabine asked.

"A few times."

"I always wanted to," she said, a little wistfully. "But I don't suppose I ever will."

"It's not as much fun as you might think," said Carter. "Well, not from where I was, anyway. But I guess a passenger flight would be different." He glanced at her. "Where do you want to fly to?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere far away from here." There was a sudden passion in her voice, and he looked at her again, puzzled. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what it meant, but he held back.

They walked without speaking for a while. Presently, as they started to see the first outlying houses of the town, Sabine stopped.

"You've been very kind," she said, "but I can see myself the rest of the way."

Carter looked around. "I don't think you should. It's not such a nice part of town."

She sighed. "After tonight, I don't think things could get much worse."

He didn't answer, just waited. After a few moments, she went on. "I know you think it's a bit strange. I hate to imagine what you might be thinking."

Carter could feel himself going red. "I guess I think what anyone would think - that you're a nice girl who's just got into trouble. No, I don't mean that," he added hastily, realising how that sounded. "I mean...well, you know."

"I know it looks bad," she admitted, in a very small voice, "but..." She looked up at him. "I'd like to tell you how it happened. I did something I shouldn't have, but I don't want you to think it was anything worse."

"Okay," Carter replied uncomfortably. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the story.

Sabine began walking again. "Do you know a Major Pintz? He's in charge of the recruiting office."

"I haven't met him," said Carter cautiously.

"He's not a very nice man," she said. "I've often seen him - I'm a receptionist at the Hotel Hammelburg, and he visits there with friends. Lady friends," she added, faltering a little; she must have had a fairly sheltered life. "He never paid any attention to me, until recently."

She stopped, and bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she stammered.

"It's okay," Carter said gently.

She took a deep breath. "One day last week, he came in on his own, just to speak to me. He said that my father's employment situation had come to his attention, but that he didn't want to take any hasty action. He asked if I would like to meet him somewhere for a private discussion of how we might resolve things, so that Papa could remain available for work at home, instead of being shipped off to Africa, or Russia. Of course I agreed - what was I supposed to do? I couldn't bear the thought of Papa being sent to the front. He loves Germany, but he doesn't agree with..." Once again, she cut herself off, but Carter had caught on. It sounded like Sabine's father was not a supporter of the regime. That could make things dangerous for the whole family, if anyone knew of it.

She didn't speak for a minute or so. Then she went on. "So tonight I went with Major Pintz to his house, out in the country. But when it came to it, I couldn't." Her voice had become increasingly unsteady.

Carter was speechless. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry. It was almost a minute before he managed to get his temper under control enough to speak. "So what happened?" he asked.

"He told me my father's call-up papers would arrive within a week, and sent me away. And now there's nothing I can do."

They continued in silence for a while. They had passed through the town, and turned into a quiet street lined with high, narrow-fronted houses.

"Did you tell your parents about this?" asked Carter.

"How could I? Papa would never have let me go."

"Papa would have been right," Carter told her firmly. "What was that major's name again?"

"Pintz. Major Martin Pintz."

Carter hesitated. He wasn't sure whether he was doing the right thing, but after all, it was partly his doing that Sabine had found herself in this situation. Surely if he explained to Colonel Hogan, they could fix this Major Pintz. Maybe they could even do something with Sabine's father; from what she had hinted, he might be a possible recruit for the Underground. But that was not something Carter could decide.

"Look, don't say anything about it," he said. "But I know some people. I might be able to do something."

Sabine's face blossomed into hope. It frightened him a little. "I can't promise," he added hastily. "But I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, if you only could...!" she whispered.

He gave her an uneasy smile, and hoped she wouldn't be disappointed.

She stopped in front of the last house in the street. There was a light still visible in the upper window. "They're waiting up for me," she said. "What shall I tell them?"

Carter thought about it. "I don't know if they would want to hear all this," he said. "But if you were my sister, I'd be real proud of you."

"Would you?" She looked surprised.

"Sure. You did the right thing. Guys like that, they never keep their word." He looked away in embarrassment, then held out his hand. "Well, goodbye, then."

She took his hand briefly. "Thank you. You were very...thank you."

Carter waited till she was safely inside, before he set off, back the way he had come. The moon was getting lower in the sky, but it would still be light long enough for him to find his way back to camp. He had a long walk ahead of him, and a great deal of explaining to do at the end of it. But he was sure - well, he hoped - he could make the colonel understand.


	2. Chapter 2

_As this story is now continuing past its original end point, a few alterations have been made to Chapter 1. The man in charge of the recruiting office is now Major Pintz ("The Swing Shift", Season 2)._

* * *

The prisoners were already lined up for morning roll-call. Carter, breathless after racing through the tunnel and scrambling into uniform, sneaked out of the barracks and scuttled to his place in line, next to Kinch. From just in front, Colonel Hogan turned his head and gave him one look, and he shrank back, aware that he was in big trouble.

Nothing would be said until after they fell out, so at least he had a few minutes to get his thoughts in order, before he had to defend himself. It wasn't going to be fun, that was for sure.

Schultz came along the line, treading with great firmness as he counted: "_...elf, zwölf, dreizehn, vierzehn, fünfzehn._" Then, relieved that nothing was out of the ordinary for once, he beamed. "Colonel Hogan," he chortled, "everyone is here."

"Only just," said Kinch quietly, with a sideways glance at Carter that was almost as severe as Hogan's. Schultz either didn't hear, or chose to ignore him. He turned, ready to make his report to the Kommandant.

It had turned bitterly cold as morning approached, and Colonel Klink was not predisposed to linger. "Dismissed," he said curtly, and swung round to return to the relative warmth of his office.

The prisoners headed for the barracks. Hogan, coming in last, looked around till he found Carter. "My office," he said. "Now."

_Oh, boy!_ thought Carter apprehensively.

As he hesitated, Newkirk muttered, "Don't keep him waiting, Andrew. He's not very happy. And when he's done with you, I want a word as well."

"_Moi aussi_," growled LeBeau. Kinch didn't say anything, but his expression would have made a hanging judge tremble. Trouble on all sides, then. Carter took a deep breath, and went to meet his fate.

"Well?" said Hogan, as soon as the door was closed.

Carter flinched at the anger in his voice. "Sorry, sir." His voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat, and murmured again, "Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Carter. What the hell were you thinking? You were out all night. You were this close to missing roll-call. We had no idea what might have happened to you, or where to start looking."

"Well, you told me to move the girl on, Colonel, so I did."

"And just where did you move her to? Cleveland? Carter, we were on a mission last night. Our instructions were to make contact with the commandos and pass on the information they needed to complete their operation, not to go for a moonlight stroll. Do you have any idea how much trouble you could have gotten into? Or how much trouble you're in right now?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't. Now get out of here. And don't think this is over, because it's not."

The conversation had not gone well. Carter wavered, unsure whether he should try to explain further. He was scared of the colonel in this mood, and instinct was telling him to let the matter drop. Still, even though he hadn't exactly promised, he had given Sabine to believe that he would at least try to fix things, and he knew he couldn't do it alone. He was going to have to ask for help.

"Uh, Colonel?" he faltered.

"What?" The reply, and the look that accompanied it, were not encouraging, and Carter's nerve failed.

"Nothing, sir," he murmured, turning to leave.

"Carter." Hogan's tone was less sharp, and Carter stopped, with his hand on the door, and looked back. "If you've got any excuse, or there's anything about last night you feel I ought to know, I'd rather hear it now than later."

"It's not an excuse, exactly, Colonel," replied Carter timidly. "Only there's something I probably should tell you. I kind of...well, I gave my word."

The explanation took some time. Because Carter was so nervous, it wasn't long before he started getting muddled, and the more aware of it he was, the worse it got. Hogan gave him no help, but just leaned against the desk, arms folded, listening. He remained silent for a couple of minutes after Carter's story had stumbled to its conclusion. Carter didn't dare look at him; he knew he had not made his case at all well.

Finally, Hogan spoke. "Carter, you know what we're here for, don't you? We assist escaping Allied servicemen, we obtain information, and we carry out acts of sabotage. We do whatever is necessary to hamper the German war effort. What we don't do is social work."

"No, sir. I know, sir."

"And you can't start feeling guilty every time one of our operations makes life difficult for someone. You know the score. People get hurt. People get killed. It's part of the cost, Carter. If you start counting it, you'll go crazy."

Carter nodded, momentarily unable to speak. That was the part he never thought about, if he could avoid it. Sabine's story was just one drop in a whole ocean of consequences, the extent of which he couldn't even imagine. He cleared his throat again. "I understand, Colonel. Just forget it. It doesn't matter."

He turned back to the door.

"We're not finished, Carter," said Hogan. "You've given me the story. But you haven't given me the analysis. Is there anything in this whole mess that makes it worth our while to follow it up?"

Carter tried to work out what Hogan was getting at, but he was so rattled he couldn't think straight. "I don't think so, Colonel," he said at length.

"You're not looking hard enough. There's at least two likely payoffs in it." Hogan began pacing, as he usually did when thinking. "Okay, I'm not saying that the local recruiting office is important enough for us to make disrupting it a priority, but it would still mess them around enough to be worth the effort. Besides, apart from last night's outing, it's been a slow week, and the men are getting bored. They need something to keep them occupied, and this could be just what they want. And if you're right about the girl's father, he could be useful as an inside man at any number of technical sites. So let's not write the whole thing off yet."

He pushed past Carter and opened the door. "Kinch, get in here."

Newkirk and LeBeau started forward as well. The disciplinary interview had gone on long enough to make them uneasy. They both stopped dead, recognising the danger signals still evident in Hogan's face, but then he nodded. "Okay, you two, as well. I need to speak to you anyway, Newkirk."

Carter had retreated to the window, so that the colonel was between him and the others. He was pretty sure that Hogan, while still angry, was no longer completely furious with him, but one glance confirmed that he could still expect a scrupulously detailed dressing-down from either LeBeau or Kinch, or more likely both at once; and he had to suppress a shudder when he met the glare Newkirk sent in his direction. Hogan had been right. It wasn't over yet. Not even close.

"Newkirk, remember when you got drafted into the German army?" Hogan began. "The Kraut in charge of the induction centre - what was his name?"

Newkirk looked startled. He had not slept well, between anxiety over Carter and the ongoing symptoms of his head cold, and the question seemed to come out of nowhere. Finally he pulled himself together. "I can't remember, sir. It was a while ago, and I had other things on my mind. Like trying not to get myself posted here as a guard, for a start."

"Was it Pintz?"

"Doesn't ring a bell, but it could have been," said Newkirk.

"Never mind," said Hogan. "Major Pintz is the man we're interested in. Kinch, I want you to find out everything you can about him. Including his private affairs. Especially his private affairs."

"That's a pretty tall order, Colonel," murmured Kinch doubtfully.

"That's why I'm asking you to do it. At least I've got one person around here who gets the job done right." Hogan did not look at Carter as he spoke, but Carter understood the remark to be aimed at him, and he lowered his head. LeBeau and Newkirk looked slightly conscious, as well.

"I'll get right on it," said Kinch. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, ask someone we trust in Hammelburg to start looking into a possible new contact. Tell them to make all the usual checks, and put out a few feelers, see what they can come up with. Carter, what's the man's name?"

"I don't know," Carter stammered, suddenly aware of how little prepared he had been for his story to be taken seriously.

"That's going to make it difficult, Carter," said Kinch.

"I know where he lives," Carter added quickly. "He lives in..." He came to a stop. He didn't know that part of Hammelburg very well, and he wasn't sure of the name of the street.

Hogan drew a deep breath, visibly repressing his resurgent temper. "Could you find it on a map?" he asked.

"Colonel, Carter couldn't find his own bunk on a map of the barracks," said Newkirk.

Carter sent him a reproachful look, which Newkirk stonewalled with that exasperated glower that long practice had polished to near perfection. Realising that he was going to have to come up with something, Carter closed his eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate. He had seen a street sign, but hadn't really been paying attention to it. Now he tried to bring it back from the wilderness of memory. And suddenly it was there, quite clear in his mind. "Gärtnerstraße," he said, as surprised as anyone. "At the far end, close to the canal."

"Well, that's a start," murmured Kinch. "Any other clues?"

"He was a shift foreman at the hydro-electric plant - probably the day shift, he wasn't on duty when we blew it up," Carter went on. "And he has a daughter named Sabine. She works at the Hotel Hammelburg, in reception."

LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged glances. "Works fast when he wants to, doesn't he?" observed Newkirk dryly.

"And he knows how to get the important stuff," added LeBeau, but he was looking a little less censorious, and his dimple was showing.

"It's not like that at all," said Carter. "Colonel..."

"Okay, Carter. Guys, lay off about the girl. She's off limits," said Hogan.

"Excuse me, Colonel, but are we allowed to know what this is all about?" asked Kinch. "It's not like you to keep us in the dark."

Hogan gave it some thought before replying. "We're going to see what we can do to make life difficult for the head of the recruitment office. Partly because I think it'll keep you guys out of mischief, and partly because it never hurts to derail military business when we get a chance." He paused, glancing at Carter enquiringly, then went on. "But mostly because Major Pintz needs to be sent packing. Our information suggests that he uses his position to blackmail young women. And not for money."

For several seconds, nobody spoke. LeBeau recovered first. "_Salopard_!" he spat.

"Can't argue with that," said Newkirk softly. "Are we going to sort him out?"

"That's the plan," Hogan replied. "But we don't have a lot of time. This girl turned him down, and as a result her father is likely to be called up within the next week. Once that happens, he's no use to us. Kinch, start making calls. Newkirk, we'll probably need you on this one, so see if you can shake off that cold. LeBeau, make him some chicken soup. And Carter..." Hogan turned to the one who had started all this, and raised one eyebrow. "Okay, you're off the hook. For now. You just better hope this works out."

"I will, sir," said Carter. "I sure will."


	3. Chapter 3

"Pintz is a real charmer," observed Kinch. He had just come up from the radio room, after a session of communication that had taken up the entire morning.

The others had just eaten, and Newkirk pushed his empty plate aside. "I've got a few other words for him," he said. "Is it right, what Carter said?"

"Seems to be - thanks, Louis," said Kinch, as LeBeau brought him his share of the food. "It's mostly hearsay, but there are at least three cases that our contact was able to confirm. Two of the girls refused the offer, and had brothers sent to the Eastern Front. The third had just got married, and she gave in to save her husband." Kinch paused, and looked at the colonel. "It made no difference. He was posted to Stalingrad. Never stood a chance."

Carter, who was sitting cross-legged on his bunk, trying not to be noticed, clasped his hands together in his lap, and looked away. He knew how close Sabine had come to giving Pintz what he wanted, and he had guessed how little use it would have been, but he still hadn't wanted to hear it confirmed.

"How does he get away with it?" asked LeBeau, unable to hide his disgust.

"The girls are probably too scared, or too ashamed, to tell anyone. He's careful picking his targets," Kinch went on. "It's never a girl whose family might have influential friends. Pintz is one of General Burkhalter's most trusted officers. If a complaint was made, it's pretty safe nothing would come of it."

Hogan pushed his chair back. "Anything else?"

"Pintz has other women as well. He's a regular at the Hotel Hammelburg, with a new one every week. Spends a lot of money on them - in fact, he throws it around pretty freely. More than he should, on a major's salary."

"Interesting," murmured Hogan. "What about the girl?"

"Sabine Richter. Her father, Thomas Richter, trained as an electrical engineer in the States, after the first war. Highly qualified, but he can't get work at the level of his abilities."

"What's the problem?" said Hogan. "He should be able to walk into any job he wants. They're crying out for competent engineers."

Kinch shook his head. "Not a Party member. In fact, he's refused to join."

"That'll do it," muttered Newkirk.

"The family moved from Dresden to Hammelburg two years ago, when Richter started at the hydro-electric works. Richter, his wife Lillian and the daughter. They seem pretty well-liked, but they keep to themselves, and they haven't made a lot of friends. Richter's just been taken on at a printery, doing general maintenance on the presses. It's heavy work, and not well paid. And it won't keep him from being drafted."

"What are the prospects for using him?" asked Hogan.

"The Underground have been checking him out. They're satisfied he's genuine, but not sure if he's up to it. He may not want to put his family at risk, and physically he's not very strong. But then, neither is Schnitzer, and he manages fine."

"Is there any chance Richter might fail the physical?" LeBeau put in.

Newkirk gave a short laugh. "Not a hope, if they're still using the doctor that passed me. If he's got a pulse, he's in. And even if he hasn't, it's probably negotiable."

Hogan disregarded this, still following his own train of thought. "Have any of our people approached him yet?"

"They've made contact, but so far he's not showing any interest. They never do, at first, Colonel," said Kinch. "It takes time."

"He may not have time," Hogan ran his hand across the back of his neck. "Sabine told Carter he'd be called up within a week. That could mean by Friday, or it could mean tomorrow. We have to take care of Pintz now." He got up and began pacing, arms folded, his brow furrowed. "The major spends a lot of money. Where do you suppose he gets it?"

"He's a blackmailer," said LeBeau promptly. "Maybe sometimes he asks for money instead of other things."

"Probably. But that's not going to bring in a lot. The man doesn't deliver on the deal, remember, so he's not getting any repeat business. So what other opportunities are there for a man in his position?"

"He'd be in charge of the departmental accounts," observed Kinch. "It wouldn't be that hard to skim something off the top, or fiddle the supply invoices, or the pay records."

"That's an idea," added Newkirk. "Klink's done the same thing. If he can manage it, anyone can."

"You guys are learning," said Hogan appreciatively. "But if Pintz is smarter than our beloved Kommandant - and how could he not be? - he'll know enough to hide his tracks. Kinch, who have we got that knows about book-keeping?"

Kinch considered. "Hartnell, in Barracks 7," he suggested. "He was an accountant before he enlisted. He's been checked out, he's sound."

"Does he speak German?"

"Enough to get by, but his accent's bad," said Newkirk.

"Worse than yours?" Hogan grinned at the look Newkirk gave him. "Okay, it doesn't matter. We'll just make sure he doesn't have to talk."

"What is it you have in mind, Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

Hogan put a hand on his shoulder. "Louis, my boy, we're going to arrange a surprise audit of the recruiting office. But not until after we've planted the evidence."

It took twenty-four hours for Hogan to plan the operation, which he did in meticulous detail. Only then did he assemble his men, including Hartnell. After the briefing, he gave them a few moments to get things clear in their minds before continuing.

"Now, let's make sure we've all got it right. We go in when?"

"Tomorrow at fourteen hundred hours, sir," said Newkirk promptly. "Carter will be the SS general, you're his aide, I'm the driver."

"LeBeau, where are you?"

"I'm outside with Hartnell, on the north side of the building, near the fire escape. Both of us will be wearing the same uniform as Newkirk."

"Kinch?"

"At thirteen fifty, I ring Pintz and tell him that General Friedlieb will be arriving any minute to make an inspection. Then I call the Auditor General's staff and request a surprise audit of the recruiting office, on behalf of General Burkhalter. They're to arrive at sixteen hundred hours, precisely."

"Good. Carter?"

Carter took a deep breath. He hated this part of the briefing; even when he was certain he knew the plan perfectly, he always got mixed up trying to repeat it back. "I get Pintz to take us on a tour of the building."

"And...?"

Unsure, Carter glanced around. Everyone was watching him; even Hartnell, who hardly knew him, had that look on his face. Hogan waited, then sighed, and answered for him, "You send Newkirk back to the car."

"Yes, sir. I knew that."

"Right. Don't forget it. Newkirk, what do you do then?"

"I double back, hang about in the corridor till the coast is clear, then I open the window at the far end, the one that gives onto the fire escape, and let Hartnell in. We get into Pintz's office and I open the safe."

"Meanwhile, I take Newkirk's place as driver, and wait with the car," added LeBeau.

Hogan turned to Hartnell. He was a preposterously lanky young man with a face like a caricature of Stan Laurel, but he knew his stuff. "I go through the books to see if there's any evidence of dodgy dealing. If I don't find any, I put some in." He looked as if he was enjoying the prospect.

"Right," said Hogan. "But get Newkirk to do the writing. He's probably a better forger than you are." Hogan glanced from Hartnell to Newkirk. "Remember, you've got exactly one hour. That's as long as I think we'll be able to keep Pintz out of the way."

"Yes, Colonel," said Newkirk. "Once we're done, we leave by the fire escape, and go straight to the rendezvous point to wait for you."

Hogan turned back to Carter, who said tentatively, "We have to be out of the building by thirteen fifty."

"Fifteen thirty," said Hogan.

"Right. Fifteen thirty." Carter flushed, and looked at the floor.

Hogan cast up his eyes. "It's just as well I'm going to be with you, Carter. Any questions?"

Hartnell raised his hand. "What happens if someone notices that LeBeau isn't Newkirk?"

"They never notice," said Newkirk. "Nobody ever looks at the driver."

"Yeah, we've based our whole operation around that concept," added Hogan. "Anything else?"

Hartnell looked from Newkirk to LeBeau, then glanced at Carter, and a slow grin unfolded. "No, I guess you guys have got everything under control."

As the briefing ended, and the team dispersed, Carter slipped quietly out of the barracks, and settled on the low bench outside the door. He'd managed to get things happening, after all, but he wasn't looking forward to this operation. His personal interest in the outcome was likely to make things difficult. On top of that, outings that involved the assumption of character were never easy for him. He knew it was necessary, and that, for reasons that weren't always clear to him, he was often the best choice for the central role, but he was starting to hate it. Newkirk, a player at heart, breezed through the performance, but Newkirk never strayed far from his own personality. For Carter it was different; often it was as if something else, some part of him that he hardly knew was there, took over once the uniform was on. The reason it worked - the only reason it worked - was that it wasn't really him.

It didn't help that it was often so hard to get back into himself afterwards. Once, he'd found himself continuing with some quirk of behaviour from one of those impersonations, long after the mission was completed. He'd come up with an excuse: _Once I learn something, I learn it._ But it wasn't so much learned as generated from within, and that was something he found troubling.

There was no choice. He'd made a commitment to Sabine, and he'd dragged the rest of the team into it. To draw back now was out of the question.

Kinch came out and sat on the other end of the bench. "Smart move, getting out of there," he said. "LeBeau's making a mustard plaster for Newkirk's cold. I don't know what else he's put in it, but there's something that sure ain't mustard."

Carter smiled, but didn't reply. For a while neither of them said anything. Finally, Kinch broke the silence. "You really liked that girl, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess. But it's not that," said Carter. "It's just...I dunno, Kinch. We spend so much time doing all this stuff, and it wrecks people's lives, and most of the time I don't even think about it."

"It's better if you don't, Carter," Kinch replied. "We're at war. It's got to be done."

"I know. I get that. It's just, every so often, it doesn't seem right."

Kinch was looking at him with a troubled frown. It wasn't like Carter to be introspective. "Carter, you can't get cold feet, just because some guy lost his job and you think it's your fault. There are people suffering all over Europe because of what those guys in Berlin started. You know they're still dropping bombs on civilians in England. You know what they've done in the occupied countries, and even what happens here in Germany. You know about those other camps, the ones we hear rumours about. It has to be stopped, Carter. And sometimes that means doing things we may not be proud of. Just for once, you're getting the chance to make it up. Be glad of that. It's not going to happen very often."

He got up, and headed back inside. "Hey, Kinch?" Carter called after him. "What about when it's all over? Will it be worth it?"

"Carter," replied Kinch quietly, "I think that depends on which side wins."


	4. Chapter 4

Shortly before two o'clock, the staff car drew up in a side street, not far from the recruiting office.

"Okay, this is it," said Hogan quietly. "LeBeau, Hartnell, you get out here. Hartnell, you okay?"

"Fine and dandy, sir," said Hartnell cheerfully.

"Good. Remember, LeBeau is in charge, you follow his instructions to the letter." Hartnell didn't reply, but gave LeBeau a slightly wicked grin. LeBeau rolled his eyes. Hartnell was starting to get on his nerves.

Hogan glanced at Carter, who had been very quiet since they had left Stalag 13. "Are you ready, Carter?"

"Sure, Colonel," said Carter, gazing out of the window. His anxiety had settled, now that things were about to kick off. Hogan, as usual, had given him a general outline of how he should play it, and left it at that. Experience had taught that at times like this Carter could be trusted to wing it, and against all intuition it always seemed to work out.

By the time the car pulled up in front of the two-story Neoclassical building that housed both the administrative department and induction centre for the recruiting office, Carter was pretty well in character; however, his concentration wavered a little, as Newkirk opened the door for him. He got out, passing close to the driver, then turned a startled look on him, and murmured, "You should have gotten rid of the mustard plaster."

Newkirk went red, though his expression didn't so much as flicker. "I couldn't get it off. LeBeau used too much tape sticking it on."

Hogan, coming around from the other side of the car, raised his head a little, and took a cautious inward breath. "What the hell did he put in that?"

"I have no idea, Colonel," replied Newkirk. "It's working, whatever it is, but I'd rather have kept the cold. At least I wouldn't be able to smell the ruddy thing."

"Count yourself lucky. He skipped the garlic this time. But don't stand too close to anyone," Hogan advised quietly. "Especially not me." He looked up at the wide ornate entrance to the building. "Is this the door they used, when they brought you in?"

"No, there's a side entrance, goes straight into the induction centre," said Newkirk. "It's not nearly as flash as this one."

"Good enough for the common herd," replied Hogan. "Okay, let's go."

It was always slightly disturbing, seeing the change that came over Carter at this point in any operation. His customary awkwardness dropped away, replaced by a kind of instinctive dominance. This time, as instructed, he'd gone into cool, controlled mode; there would be no shouting, and no violence, but as he strode into the foyer of the recruiting office, the staff instinctively shrank back. Carter in this incarnation was about as intimidating as it got. Neither Hogan nor Newkirk ever admitted how much it sometimes spooked them.

With Hogan two paces behind on his right, and Newkirk a step further back on the left, he advanced on the reception desk, eyed the young soldier on duty as if he was wondering whether it was worth the effort of squashing him, then turned an ice-cold glare on Hogan, who stepped forward, cleared his throat, and murmured, "General Friedlieb. Major Pintz is expecting us."

The young man, who looked all of nineteen, had jumped to his feet on their arrival, but the look Carter had bestowed on him seemed to have robbed him of whatever wits he may have possessed, and he just stood there, apparently unable to move. Hogan cast an uneasy look at his purported superior, then leaned forward. "The General doesn't like to be kept waiting," he said quietly.

Before the man could pull himself together, Major Pintz made his appearance, descending the massive staircase with more haste than dignity. Whatever Kinch had told him on the phone, it had been effective; the man looked as if he'd just heard that the entire General Staff was on his doorstep. He stopped short, made a pathetic effort to compose himself, and saluted, with a slightly strangled "_Heil!_"

Hogan returned the salute snappily; Carter, in the weary manner of a man for whom dealing with fools was an occupational necessity. "Major Pintz?" he said.

"Yes, _Herr General_," Pintz gasped. He seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. Kinch had really done a number on him.

Carter regarded him in silence for half a minute. Pintz was as tall as Hogan, broad-shouldered, red-haired, with a vacuously inoffensive countenance. At the moment he looked thoroughly alarmed, but Hogan could imagine him dealing with someone weaker than himself, and he didn't like the picture.

Finally, Carter spoke. "I've heard a lot about you, Pintz," he said.

_Steady, Carter,_ thought Hogan.

Pintz went scarlet, tried to answer but failed miserably. On the second attempt, he managed to choke out, "My office is this way, _Herr General._ If you would like to..."

"After you, Major," replied Carter, with a tight, chilly smile. He was really on form today.

Pintz's office was on the first floor, accessed by a short passage at the end of the main gallery that ran the length of the building. It was an elegant room, half-panelled in oak, with a high, ornately moulded ceiling. "Very nice," said Carter acidly, and at once the decor seemed excessively elaborate.

"May I offer you some refreshment, _Herr General_?" stammered Pintz.

Carter gave him another of those devastating looks, then turned to Hogan. "Tell me, Hans, are we making a social visit?"

"I don't believe so, sir," replied Hogan meekly. The slightest tremor of a smirk flitted across Newkirk's face, as he stood at attention by the door, surreptitiously taking a survey of the room and its contents.

"No, I thought not. We will begin the inspection."

"Certainly, _Herr General_," said Pintz. "Where would you like to..I mean, is there any particular part of...I mean..." His voice dwindled to nothing under Carter's gaze.

"Perhaps the major could start by telling us how he has his department arranged," suggested Hogan kindly. "What else is on this floor, Major?"

Pintz blinked at him, then took a deep breath. "My secretary has the next room, then there is the main clerical administrative area, the telephone switchboard and mail room. The ground floor is mostly given over to the induction centre and uniform store. The basement is just the records repository."

Carter held up one hand, and Pintz fell silent. "Records repository..." murmured Carter. "Hans, there is a records repository."

Realising where Carter was going with this, Hogan murmured, "The General is always very interested in official documentation."

"I always judge a man by how well organised his files are," said Carter reflectively. "A tidy filing system means a tidy mind, and a tidy mind is a military mind. Efficient record keeping is what will win this war, Pintz. I will begin with the basement." The furthest possible point from Pintz's office. It couldn't be more perfect.

As the major, by now very effectively flattened, ushered his visitors toward the stairs, Carter threw an order over his shoulder at Newkirk. "Meier, you may return to the car."

"Meier's not interested in records," explained Hogan, in a conversational tone.

"He doesn't like them. He doesn't...relate to them," Carter went on, almost dreamily. "That's why he's still a private. You will always be a private, Meier."

"_Jawohl, Herr General_," replied Newkirk, looking downcast.

He fell behind a little as they descended to the ground floor; as soon as the others had passed the first turn of the stairs, he backtracked towards Pintz's office. The secretary's room, which he checked in passing, was empty at the moment; so much the better.

Outside the building, LeBeau and Hartnell had taken up their position, making use of the limited cover available at the tree-lined boundary of a small public garden situated next to the recruitment office. LeBeau was finding that Hartnell did not improve on acquaintance. The accountant apparently had a short attention span, when not dealing with numbers. He had lost interest very quickly in just waiting, and was amusing himself by juggling, using some pine cones he had found. He was actually quite good at it. "First thing they teach us at accounting school," he explained airily.

"Well, they don't teach it in the _Wehrmacht_," said LeBeau. "And the first thing _we_ learn is not to attract attention."

Hartnell brought the performance to an end with a flourish.

"So you guys do a lot of just hanging around, right?" he asked, after a while. "Don't you ever get bored?"

"Always. It's just part of the job," replied LeBeau. "We're not here for fun, Hartnell." He was watching the window at the top of the fire escape, and he almost cheered with relief when Newkirk appeared. After a quick but thorough look in all directions, he pushed Hartnell forward. "Up the ladder. _Dépêche-toi_!"

Hartnell ascended, looking rather like a long-legged spider, albeit a very ungainly one. Newkirk hauled him in through the window, and then leaned out to throw the car keys down to LeBeau.

"You're welcome to him," LeBeau muttered.

Pintz had not been so flustered as to forget to lock the door when leaving his office, but that presented no obstacle for Newkirk's nimble fingers. Nor did the safe give him any grief. "Might as well have kept it in a shoe box," he said, as he extracted a large, heavy ledger-book and dumped it on the desk. "All yours, mate."

Hartnell took a seat, then glanced at Newkirk and wrinkled his nose. "Can you stand back a bit?" he said.

Newkirk scowled. "I'm going to have to get rid of this bleedin' mustard plaster," he muttered.

"It's not the mustard," observed Hartnell. "It's the goose fat."

He chuckled at the look of stupefaction on Newkirk's face. "My grandma always said a good layer of well-aged goose fat was the best cure for a cold," he added.

"Right. I bet she did. Wait till I get hold of that little..." Newkirk's voice died away into grumblings as he went to keep watch at the door.

Hartnell turned to the matter at hand. He stretched his arms, interlocking his fingers, until his knuckles gave a startlingly loud crack. "Just warming up," he explained. Then, with a delicate movement, he opened the book. "Single entry system. That's good, for us. It's much easier to fake entries if you only have to do it once. Poor administrative practice, though."

Newkirk shook his head. "And I thought it was bad enough that he was an complete bastard with no morals and no decency. Now you tell me he's a rotten manager as well." He sighed. "Destroys your faith in human nature, doesn't it?"

Hartnell nodded, but he didn't seem to be listening. He was reading through the accounts very rapidly, running a finger down each column, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Newkirk glanced at him once or twice, but didn't interrupt.

Finally Hartnell looked up. "There's nothing here," he said. "It's absolutely clean."

"Shame," murmured Newkirk. "Can we fix that?"

Hartnell leafed back through the last few pages. "Not easy. His entries are immaculate. Not so much as a correction, or a figure in the wrong column. It's going to be hard to insert any entries." He paused for a moment, then added in a meditative voice. "It's too clean. Nobody's that perfect. Not unless they're covering up for something."

"We heard that Pintz spends more money than he should," said Newkirk. "He's getting it from somewhere. Maybe he just doesn't keep a record of it."

Hartnell gave him a slightly superior smile. "They always keep a record of it. He's got another ledger, somewhere. This one's just for show."

Newkirk nodded slowly. "That's why he didn't bother with a decent safe. He doesn't care who sees that book, so why spend the money to keep it secure?" He glanced around the office again. "Watch the door," he said, and began to work his way around the walls, checking behind the paintings, then running his fingers along the upper edge of the half-panelling.

"Here we go." He had found something, a tiny raised section of wood. He pressed it down, and there was a soft click, as a section of panelling swung open. "Now that's what I call a proper safe," murmured Newkirk appreciatively.

He checked his watch. Just on twenty minutes until they had to be out of there. Well, they'd have to be quick, then. But it took nearly five minutes to get the safe open.

Hartnell made a quick start on the ledger that was inside. It was almost identical on the outside to the first one, but the expression on his face as he got to work on it made it clear that it was a very different set of figures indeed.

"Holy mother of..." he whispered after a few minutes. Then he looked up, almost awed. "It's all here. Extortion, black market deals, phony wages claims, fake supply invoices. He must have cleared forty thousand just in the last year."

"Bloody Nora!" said Newkirk.

"He can't have spent it all," Hartnell went on. "This is serious money, Newkirk. He has to have stashed it somewhere. Is there anything else in there?"

Newkirk rummaged in the safe again. "Just this," he said, holding out an envelope. Inside was a sheet of paper, with some numbers scribbled on it.

"Looks like bank account numbers," said Hartnell, giving it a glance. "Switzerland, maybe."

He had gone back to studying the book. Suddenly he stopped. "I don't like this page," he said.

Newkirk came over to look. It was a list of names. There were no entries in the financial columns, but some of the names had been marked with a tick. They were all women. Apparently Pintz felt it necessary to write down even that. The last name on the list, with no mark against it, was Sabine Richter.

"Tear it out," said Newkirk brusquely. Hartnell did so, and handed the page to Newkirk, who stuffed it into his pocket.

"You know, it would be terrible if Major Pintz accidentally put these two books in the wrong safes," observed Hartnell, in a thoughtful tone.

"Could happen to anybody," Newkirk agreed, shaking his head. "It's remarkable how absent-minded those clever chaps can be, sometimes. And just when the auditors are coming, too. What a catastrophe that would be."

He picked up the fake ledger, and put it into the concealed safe, while Hartnell carefully tucked the list of bank numbers inside the real book, and filed it safely in the shoe box.

"Right, that's done," said Newkirk. "Time to get out of here." He opened the door carefully, then gestured to Hartnell to go first.

Hartnell's slow Stan Laurel grin emerged again. "After you, Ollie," he murmured.


	5. Chapter 5

It had taken Carter less than ten minutes in the records repository to decide that this had been a big mistake, and only two minutes longer to start wishing he'd brought along a couple of incendiaries, just to liven things up.

Pintz, as it turned out, was not only a creep. He was also a dead bore when it came to explaining his administrative procedures. Carter was maintaining character, and even managing to look as if he were listening, but what the phony general was actually thinking about was how many different ways he could send this whole building sky-high, if only he were allowed. Nevertheless, he stuck it out gamely, determined for Sabine's sake to allow Newkirk and Hartnell as much time as they needed.

Meanwhile Hogan amused himself, whenever he got the chance, by removing files at random from the rows of metal shelving and re-inserting them in wrong places, but it was more a gesture than anything; he was pretty sure nobody ever came looking for any of these dossiers. He was surprised, and a little disturbed, at how extensive the repository was. They'd processed a hell of a lot of recruits through here, for a place the size of Hammelburg.

It was oppressively hot in the basement, and the electric lights were insufficient to dispel the prevailing gloom, and the composite smell of old paper and dust had an unwholesome effect.

There was a limit to how long they could keep Pintz down here, but somehow Carter managed to stretch it to a mind-numbing forty-eight minutes, before his own endurance began to fail. He came to a halt, straightened his gloves, brushed an imagined speck of dirt from his lapel, and turned to Hogan. "Hans," he said, looking pensive, "I have a very warm feeling about this place."

"I'm sorry, _Herr General_," stammered Pintz. "It's the way the building was constructed, there's no ventilation."

Carter had started shaking his head, slowly. "No, Pintz. When I say 'warm', I mean...Forgive me, I just get sentimental sometimes. Your archival system...it reminds me of home, and my dear Mamma." He looked around, with a wistful smile. "She would have loved to see it," he added.

"Remarkable woman," Hogan murmured in Pintz's ear. "When he was a boy, she used to make him keep his socks arranged alphabetically. _Herr General_," he added, " perhaps we should continue the inspection. You are meant to be meeting General von Behrendorf this afternoon. We have to leave by..."

"I know, Hans. Thirteen fifty."

"Fifteen thirty," said Hogan. Carter turned an arctic blast of blue eyes on him, and he winced, and muttered, "Thirteen fifty."

_Damn, Carter's good sometimes!_ he thought.

"We will go on." Carter switched his attention back to Pintz. "Where is the induction centre?"

"On the ground floor, _Herr General_." Pintz started towards the stairs. As Carter followed, Hogan held back a little; then, certain that Pintz was not looking, he grabbed a handful of dossiers from the nearest shelf, and tweaked them out so that they fell on the floor in confusion.

"_Donnerwetter_!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, _Herr Major_. They slipped out of my hand." He stooped, and began gathering the files together, hastily and clumsily.

"Please, Captain," said Pintz, coming to his assistance. "Allow me."

Carter's voice cut across Hogan's artistically disjointed apologies. "Pintz. Leave him to it." He looked down on Hogan with disapproval. "I always make him clean up his own mistakes. It's the only way he'll learn."

Pintz hesitated, then turned back towards the stairs. Carter, after a quick glance at the colonel, followed. He had guessed that Hogan wanted to be left alone among the files for a few minutes, but obviously had no idea why.

As soon as they were out of sight, Hogan bundled the files into the nearest available space, then hastened towards the section where the records for names beginning with _R_ were stored. A rapid search found no trace of Thomas Richter's file. That could mean that his call-up notice was currently being processed elsewhere in the building, or it could mean that Pintz was keeping that particular set of documents in his office. Either way, it was bad news.

Hogan ran up the stairs two at a time, composed himself to a more dignified gait as he reached the top, and sauntered into the induction centre.

Newkirk, from the memory of his own accidental enlistment, had described this truly dismal suite of rooms, but they still came as something of an unpleasant surprise; small and cramped, with low ceilings, walls painted in various shades of pallid beige, and the windows obscured by thick, dark green curtains. It looked as if an attempt had been made to improve the decor by the inclusion of some overly lush potted ferns in the corners, and photo enlargements, framed and hung on the walls. As the pictures all seemed to have originated before the turn of the century, and the plants looked as if they had been freshly varnished, the effect was more sinister than reassuring. What it must be like to enter this place as a conscript was beyond Hogan's ability to imagine. At present, however, no recruits were there.

He fell into step behind Carter, and sneaked a glance at his watch. The hour they had allowed for Hartnell to complete his research had expired; he and Newkirk should be out of the building by now, and it wanted only a little longer until the deadline for Hogan and Carter. But it wouldn't do to rush the fence now. They continued with the inspection tour.

"You have no recruits today, Pintz," Carter said, as he studied a small print of a group of nursing sisters, which hung on the wall of the medical officer's waiting room. It didn't appear to be giving him much pleasure, which was hardly surprising; those ministering angels looked like hard cases.

"We are expecting a new cohort at any moment, _Herr General_," said Pintz nervously. "If you could delay your departure for a few minutes..."

"I don't think the general can do that," Hogan intervened. "General von Behrendorf gets very agitated if he's kept waiting, and it's bad for his digestion. And whenever he gets bilious..."

"You are right, Hans," murmured Carter. "Another time, Pintz."

Pintz tried not to look appalled at the prospect of another visit, as he ushered his guests towards the entrance hall. Just as they reached it, his attention was momentarily diverted by one of the induction centre staff. It was just as well, because as he entered the foyer, Carter stopped dead, and Hogan, glancing at him, felt a surge of dismay on discovering that, for once, the mask had dropped before the performance was over. General Friedlieb was gone; the expression of shock, anxiety and deep misgiving was pure, one hundred percent Andrew Carter.

Hogan cast his eyes around the foyer. A girl had just come through the main doors; a quiet-looking girl, modestly dressed, with a frightened but determined manner. She had not yet noticed Carter, but he had seen her, and had recognised her.

"Is that...?" murmured Hogan softly.

"Uh-huh." Carter took a hesitant step forward. The movement attracted the girl's attention, and she glanced at him fleetingly as she crossed towards the reception desk. Then she stopped, and looked again. Her face went pale, and her eyes widened.

"Pull yourself together, Carter," whispered Hogan fiercely. "You're going to have to stall Pintz. I'll get her out of here."

Carter blinked, shivered, then with an effort brought Friedlieb back. As Pintz arrived, he swung around. "Major Pintz," he said, "I have reconsidered. I think it best if I observe the induction process. General von Behrendorf will just have to wait. If you please..."

Pintz had spotted Sabine, who was still staring at Carter in bewildered indignation. The major's expression darkened, and he drew back. "_Herr General_, my staff will be most pleased to assist you," he said. "But I must request you to excuse me. I have an urgent matter that..."

"I beg your pardon?"

Carter spoke softly, but even Hogan cringed a little, and Pintz's attempt to absent himself collapsed into a void of silence. Carter let it rest for a few seconds, then turned to Hogan. "Hans, please tell the driver we will be a few minutes longer. Pintz - after you."

As they disappeared back into the induction centre, the girl abruptly turned and left the building, Hogan went after her, catching up with her on the street. It was no time to be standoffish, but as he took her arm she went scarlet, and tried to pull away. "Please leave me alone," she said, in a low voice.

"Take it easy, Sabine," he muttered. "We're here to help."

"I don't know you, sir." Her voice was shaking, whether from fear or outrage, he wasn't sure.

"No, you don't. But you know my friend in there. He told me about you."

She didn't answer, but shook her head, breathing quickly. Hogan glanced around; the car was gone. It couldn't be far away. Keeping a grip on Sabine's arm, he began to lead her towards the corner.

"Something's happened, hasn't it?" he asked. As she still didn't speak, he went on. "Okay, I know it's hard to believe, when someone in this get-up says they want to help you, but it's the truth. But I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. Talk to me."

She looked up at him, wavered, then whispered, "They came for Papa an hour ago."

_Damn!_ thought Hogan. "I'm sorry," he said. "We thought we could prevent that. But it's not hopeless yet." He glanced down at the little dark head, just below his shoulder. "Why did you come here?"

Another wave of colour swept across her face, but she didn't reply.

"Sabine," said Hogan, "Pintz doesn't keep his bargains."

"I know," she faltered. "Andreas told me. But I had to try."

"No. I won't allow it. Leave it to us, we'll get him out. I promise," he added, as she gave him a fearful, disbelieving look.

They had reached the corner, and he saw LeBeau standing by the car, parked a little way down the street. The Frenchman came forward quickly, then stopped, seeing that Hogan wasn't alone. "They made me move the car," he explained, as they got close.

"So much the better. LeBeau, this is Sabine Richter," said Hogan quickly. "Put her in the car, and don't let anyone see her. Be nice, or Carter will have something to say. And keep the motor running."

Leaving LeBeau to take care of the girl, he went back, trying to figure out how to fetch her father out of there, before it was too late.

Carter had to fight against a surge of panic as he returned to the induction centre, with a sullen, angry Pintz at his heels. If this room had seemed claustrophobic when it was empty, it was much worse now, occupied by a score of men. Carter would happily have spent hours down in the tunnels with as many or more, but this place really gave him the creeps. He tried to compose himself, and to allow General Friedlieb to take charge.

The recruits, still in civilian clothes, were called to attention on his arrival. They were mostly young; boys of eighteen and nineteen, just out of school, with a sprinkling in their twenties and thirties, who had somehow escaped the draft until now. None of them looked as if they were ready to join the Nazi war machine, although most of the younger ones, fresh from the _Hitler-Jugend_, at least knew how to stand to attention properly.

_What was Sabine doing here?_

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, knowing that he couldn't let himself be distracted now. Whatever it was, the colonel would know how to deal with it. Carter's task - Friedlieb's task - was to keep Pintz occupied. He took his time, giving each man a thorough once-over before moving on to the next.

Fifteen thirty had passed; they were into overtime.

Hogan came into the room, just as Carter reached the end of the front rank. He gave Carter a curiously intent look; there was something he wanted to convey, but Carter couldn't quite grasp it. He turned his attention back to the last man in the front row; an older man than the rest, short in stature, dark-haired, not particularly robust in appearance. Carter stood silent for a moment, struck by a curious sense of familiarity. He didn't know this man, but there was something about him...

And then Carter, with a cold shock of realisation, understood why Sabine had come.


	6. Chapter 6

_What do I do now?_ thought Carter desperately, gazing at Thomas Richter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pintz shifting impatiently. It was clearly necessary that something be done, right now. Carter took a deep breath, opened his mouth and said the first thing that came into his head:

"Why is this man here?"

There was no response, as neither Pintz nor Hogan seemed sure who the general was addressing. Carter turned, and directed an icy glare at Pintz. "Well?"

"_Herr General_, this is a recruiting office," Pintz replied. "This man is a recruit."

"Are you trying to be funny, Pintz?" Carter kept his voice quiet, to chilling effect.

"No, _Herr General_. Not at all," said Pintz. "All of these men have been drafted according to regulation."

"But not all of these men are quite so far past their prime, Major," Carter snapped back. "The German army doesn't need men who will reach retirement age before they finish basic training." He cast a calculating eye over the hapless Richter. "He looks feeble. I expect he couldn't even run ten miles without getting short of breath. Hans, have you ever seen a more pathetic specimen?"

_Come on, Colonel, help me out here!_

"Not recently, sir," replied Hogan, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows as he studied Richter. "_Herr General_, please excuse me, but I think I know this man."

Pintz jumped; he hadn't expected that. Richter was staring at Hogan with a perplexed expression. "I don't remember you, Captain," he said.

"You look very familiar to me," Hogan went on. "Tell me, did you ever live in Dresden?"

"Yes, for twenty years," said Richter. "My daughter was born there." He shot a quick, hostile look at Pintz. It appeared he had at least some idea of what had been going on; perhaps Sabine had confided in him, after all.

"Aha, you see, _Herr General_?" said Hogan, adopting a mildly triumphant air.

"I certainly do," replied Carter, who hadn't the slightest clue what Hogan was getting at.

"Perhaps if we could see his file?" Hogan continued, turning on Pintz with his most affable smile.

The first hint of distrust had appeared in Pintz's eyes; he was beginning to have doubts. "I'm afraid all personnel files for current recruits are classified," he replied. The looks of surprise exchanged between his staff said otherwise. Hogan's eyes flickered back to Carter; it was his turn to advance the play.

He moved towards Pintz, with slow, deliberate steps, until he was almost standing on the major's toes. It was remarkable, and very useful, how uncomfortable big men sometimes got, when a slightly smaller man got right up close. Carter, slighter in build than Pintz and shorter by half a head, had no difficulty forcing the man to retreat, until he came up against the edge of the reception clerk's desk and could go no further.

The general allowed him to stew for several seconds, then without taking his eyes off Pintz, snapped his fingers at the clerk. The clerk scrabbled among the dossiers in front of him, almost upsetting the lot, before handing a folder to Carter, who didn't even look at it, but passed it straight to Hogan.

"Hmm...Richter. Thomas Richter," murmured Hogan, perusing the documentation. Then he looked up, with a dawning smile of recognition. "Thomas...of course! _Herr General_, this is Thomas Richter. I knew him well when I was stationed in Dresden. I'm sure I told you about him."

"I'm sure you did, Hans," replied Carter, with splendid indifference.

Richter appeared totally confused, and deeply apprehensive, as Hogan strode forward and grasped his hand. "It's great to see you again, Richter," he said with great enthusiasm. "You do remember me, don't you? Hans Weber, from Leipzig. We were in the chess club together."

"Uh...yes, I suppose..." faltered Richter, unwilling to confess complete ignorance of the aide of an SS general, even one that played chess.

Carter shook his head, with a sigh. "The people he met at that chess club...!"

Hogan gave a reminiscent laugh. "Do you remember that trip to Berlin, for the Strength Through Joy championship chess tournament? What a week that was! We went up to Kreuzberg," he explained to Carter, "me and Thomas and...what was his name?" He turned back to Richter. "Andreas, of course. You can't have forgotten Andreas."

Richter nodded slowly, a gleam of enlightenment appearing in his eyes. "Andreas. Yes, that name rings a bell," he said. So Sabine had told him. That would make things easier.

"Oh, boy, that night...!" Hogan went on, then caught Carter's eye. "Sorry, sir," he murmured. "It's just whenever I meet an old friend, I get a little carried away. I didn't know you'd moved from Dresden, Thomas. Say, what are you doing these days? Still in engineering?"

Richter looked around the recruitment office. "No, not at the moment," he replied.

"Oh, that's right. Called up. I'm sorry, that was tactless. Well, it's great to see you again. We must catch up, some time," said Hogan cheerfully.

"One moment, Hans." Carter broke into the conversation. "This man Richter is an engineer?"

"Only the best electrical engineer in Saxony, when I knew him." Hogan spread his hands, as if words could not convey the level of Richter's skill.

"I see," said Carter. "Major Pintz, perhaps you could explain to me how a man of such abilities is being drafted as a common soldier?"

Pintz had gone very white, and very still, and the look he cast at Carter was murderous. It took him several seconds to command his voice enough to reply. "The man is unemployed, and of military age."

"And can serve the Fatherland better as a competent engineer than as an incompetent private." Carter stepped back, and turned to speak to Hogan. "Hans, we will take your friend with us. I may have a proposition for him."

"General Friedlieb..." Pintz spoke furiously. Carter swung back, and met his eyes full on. Nobody in the room so much as breathed, as they fought it out in silence.

Pintz was the first to look away.

"Thank you for your time, Major Pintz," said Carter, icily triumphant. He swept past Hogan and Richter and headed for the foyer.

As they gained the street, Richter began to recover his self-possession. "Who are you?" he whispered.

"Friends of your daughter," replied Hogan quietly. "To the right, Carter - the car's in the next side street."

Richter looked at him in bewilderment. "You're not...?"

"No, not me," said Hogan, and nodded towards Carter. He could almost have laughed at the expression on Richter's face. No matter how Sabine had described Carter to him, there was no way that it would square with the general.

LeBeau was walking back and forth next to the car. At sight of the approaching party he started forward; then at the look Hogan sent him, he scuttled round to the driver's side. Hogan opened the rear door and pushed Richter inside, before jumping into the front passenger seat. Carter got in behind LeBeau, and collapsed against the upholstery, completely spent.

"Get moving, LeBeau," ordered Hogan. He glanced into the back seat. Richter, having discovered his daughter was there, was reduced to a stunned silence as he put his arm around her. She hid her face against his shoulder, shaking with relief.

"You okay, Carter?" Hogan asked. This was the longest sustained impersonation, and the most difficult, that Carter had ever had to get through. It had taken a lot out of him, but he nodded.

Hogan looked at his watch. "LeBeau, take us round the block, and go past the recruiting office on the opposite side. I want to check."

There was a large, official car parked outside the building. Next to it two men in uniform, very neat and precise, were deep in conversation. As LeBeau slowed down, one of the men consulted his watch, then both of them started up the steps towards the entrance.

"Who are those men?" asked Richter.

Hogan had started to smile as soon as he saw them. "They're Major Pintz's pigeons, coming home to roost," he replied. "LeBeau, take us to Gärtnerstraße."

In the office on the first floor, Pintz had just swallowed a large glass of brandy to steady his nerves. This had all gone terribly wrong. Richter wasn't supposed to have important friends. Yet the general's aide knew him; and that little bitch of a daughter, who had made him look so ridiculous, had obviously recognised the general when she saw him. What did she have to do with General Friedlieb?

Who _was_ General Friedlieb, anyway?

The doubts that had started to pester him, a few minutes ago, now began to multiply. He couldn't remember ever hearing of Friedlieb before today. For the life of him, now, he couldn't recall whether anyone - the general, his aide, or the officer who had phoned him beforehand - had told him what division Friedlieb belonged to, or the location of his headquarters.

Pintz stared at the phone, wondering who he should call, to make enquiries.

At the back of his consciousness, sensed but not yet perceived, was the first awareness of a faint, lingering smell that pervaded his office, an odd mixture of mustard and stale goose fat. But that thought, with all it implied, was never to be realised. As he sat, running through his mental list of contacts within the SS, there was a knock on the door. And though he didn't know it yet, that sound marked the moment when his little empire fell into ruins.

As dusk began to descend across the town, Hogan had LeBeau stop the car, a little distance from the Richter's home. "We'll let you out here," he told Richter, as he opened the door to let the engineer and his daughter out. "You don't want the neighbours to see you arriving in a car full of SS officers."

Richter, still apparently in a state of mild shock, agreed wholeheartedly. He continued to hold Sabine close, aware of what she had been through for him. "I can't thank you enough," he said. "Are you sure it's over, as far as Pintz is concerned?"

"I think we can be pretty sure of that," replied Hogan confidently. "And it's Carter you should thank, not me."

Richter glanced at Carter, who had stayed in the car, too tired to get out. He looked embarrassed at the attention, but smiled bashfully. It seemed impossible to reconcile such a nice young man with the fearsome General Friedlieb.

Hogan looked around to make sure nobody was watching, then spoke quickly and quietly. "In the next few days, some people will be in touch. They have a proposition to put to you. Please listen to it very carefully, but don't make a decision before you talk to your wife and daughter. It affects them too. I hope you'll agree to it; it'd make a lot of difference to the work we do. But don't accept it unless you're sure."

"I think I understand what you mean," said Richter.

"Good." Hogan nodded farewell, and went back to the car. He got in beside the driver. "Right, LeBeau, let's go fetch the accounting team."

"They probably started walking by now," observed LeBeau, as he set the car in gear. "Or else Newkirk already strangled Hartnell. I would have."

Carter wasn't listening. As the car drove off, he gave Sabine a small, hesitant wave. She nodded, and smiled at him, the same timid smile as on that first meeting.

"Okay, Carter," said Hogan, after a while. "It worked out. But next time we see a girl wandering the roads by moonlight, I'm sending LeBeau to deal with it."

LeBeau laughed at him. "No point, Colonel," he said. "I would have done just the same as Carter."

"You know," Hogan replied, looking over his shoulder at Carter," I'm not sure I wouldn't, either. But let's not make a habit of it."

* * *

Another night; another full moon. This time, the meeting was not on any isolated country road, but on platform three of the Hammelburg railway station.

Thomas Richter was standing in front of the baggage room. There was a serenity about him, and a new sense of purpose. His wife, an energetic little woman, and his quiet, pretty daughter stood with him, waiting for the train that would bring them to Magdeburg, and the new work that lay ahead.

At first none of the family noticed the two men approaching them. Then Richter turned his head, and saw them. With a gentle smile, he touched his daughter's shoulder to attract her attention. Sabine glanced at her mother for permission, before coming to meet them.

"I didn't think I'd see you here," she said, looking up at Hogan. She was still a little shy of him.

"We couldn't let you all leave without saying goodbye," he replied. "After all, we're the ones that organised the new job for your father in Magdeburg." He glanced at Carter, then at Sabine again; realised he was one too many, cleared his throat, and added, "I'll just go and have a word with...yep, I'll leave you to..." The words trailed off as he moved away to speak to Sabine's parents.

Neither Carter nor Sabine spoke for a moment.

"Well, you're off, then," said Carter, at last.

"In a few minutes," she replied.

"It'll be okay, you won't get caught in any air raids tonight," Carter went on. "We checked." He paused, then added, "Guess we won't see each other much from now on. I don't suppose you'll be back here, and I can't get there."

"I know," said Sabine. "Maybe we can find a way to send letters."

"Sure, that'd be nice." It would never happen; they both knew it wasn't possible. Carter changed the subject. "Sabine - you're sure about all this? It's dangerous work, you know."

"I'm sure. We're all sure, Andreas."

"Okay, then. I just thought I'd mention it." He looked over his shoulder. "There's the train."

Sabine nodded, and held out her hand, just as she had on that first night. Even after everything that had happened, she was too reserved, and Carter too diffident, for anything more than a handshake. But friendship between uncomplicated souls expresses itself in simple ways, and neither Carter nor Sabine felt as if anything was missing.

Then she went back to join her family.

Soon the train was out of sight, but Carter lingered, his eyes on the tracks as they gleamed in the moonlight, until even the sound of the engine faded into distance and memory.


End file.
